Passionate Protection Read online

  Jessica went white, reaching out blindly to grasp the back of a chair for support as the meaning of his words sank in.

  'You thought I'd use blackmail!' she whispered disbelievingly. 'You thought I came here to… to…'

  'Very affecting,' the cool voice mocked. 'But I am not Jorge, to be easily impressed by a pair of huge amber eyes that plead with me to believe in an innocence I know they cannot possess. You are several years older than my brother; you used his inexperience and calf-love for you to further your own ends. You must have known that his family would never tolerate such an alliance—so, Miss James, let us get down to business, shall we?'

  'If by business you mean you'll pay me to forget any claims I might have on your brother, you're wasting your time!' Jessica told him furiously, too angry to care about the danger emanating from him as she pushed bitterly past him, blinking away tears of rage as she wrestled with the huge front door. She could hear him behind her, and the terrible fear that he would never allow her to leave made the blood pound in her head, her fingers trembling as she tugged at the door.

  He swore harshly and she felt his hand on her shoulder, sobbing with relief as the door yielded and she half stumbled into the street. Her taxi was waiting and she flung herself into it without a backward glance, not caring what conclusions her driver might be drawing. The first thing she intended to do when she got back to the hotel was to put a call through to her cousin and find out exactly what was going on.

  Fortunately, it was her aunt and uncle's bridge night, and Isabel answered the phone, her pleasure turning to petulance as she recognised the anger in Jessica's voice.

  'You saw Sebastian?' she exclaimed nervously. 'Oh, no, Jess, what did he say?'

  She had a good mind to tell her, Jessica thought wrathfully. So Sebastian was his name; it suited him somehow.

  'Nothing flattering,' she assured Isabel grimly. 'In fact he seemed to think I was you. Oh, Belle,' she exclaimed as the scene in the vast and opulent drawing room flashed quickly through her mind, 'you should have warned me, told me the truth. Why on earth did you want me to come here? Sebastian told me that Jorge had no desire to become engaged to you, he even showed me your letter.'

  She knew from the sudden catch in her breath that Isabel hadn't expected that, and yet true to form her cousin, even now, seemed to be trying to turn the situation to her own advantage.

  'You didn't tell him he was wrong, did you?' she asked quickly, 'about us, I mean, Jess?'

  'I wasn't given the opportunity,' Jessica told her dryly. It hadn't been pleasant listening to what the arrogant Conde had to say, and some of his more stinging barbs still hurt.

  'He mustn't know,' Isabel was saying positively. 'Oh, Jess, try to understand—when I wrote that letter to Jorge, I was desperate—I thought I might be pregnant… Jess… Jess, are you still there?'

  Trying not to betray her shock, Jessica murmured an assent. 'Oh, you don't understand at all,' she heard Isabel saying crossly, obviously correctly interpreting her silence. 'Honestly, Jess, you're so old-fashioned it just isn't true! Living like a frigid spinster might suit you, but it doesn't suit me,' she told her frankly, 'and why shouldn't I have fun if I want to?'

  'Was it fun, thinking you might be pregnant and unmarried?' Jessica asked her bluntly. Isabel was still very much a spoiled child, and it did neither of them any good thinking now that she should have been treated far more firmly as a child—the damage was done, and Isabel seemed to think she had a God-given right to indulge herself in whatever she chose.

  'No,' she heard Isabel admit sulkily. 'But what else could I do? I had to write to him—he was as responsible as me.'

  'Go on,' Jessica told her briefly. The more she heard, the less able she felt to defend her cousin—but then there were her aunt and uncle to think of. Both of them would be unbearably shocked if they heard the truth.

  'Oh, nothing.' She could almost see Isabel's petulant shrug. 'I discovered it was a false alarm, by that time I had met John, and so…'

  'So you asked me to come here to see someone I thought you were on the verge of becoming engaged to. I don't understand, Belle. There must be something more to it.'

  There was a long silence during which mingled exasperation and fear gripped her, and then at last Isabel admitted sulkily,

  'Oh, all right then, when I wrote to Jorge he didn't write back, but his brother did. Jorge had shown him my letter, he said, and he wanted to know what proof there was that any child I might have was Jorge's—beast!' she added vitriolically. 'It was a hateful letter, Jess, and I was scared— Jorge had told me about him, that he was his guardian and that he was very strict. I was terrified he might come over here—come and see me because of what I'd written—so I panicked. I thought if you could see Jorge and tell him that I didn't want him any more then he would tell Sebastian and…'

  And she would have been safe, without having to endure the unpleasantness of an interview with either Jorge or Sebastian, Jessica reflected bitterly. Trust Isabel to want to wriggle out of the situation with the minimum amount of discomfort to herself!

  'You do understand, don't you, Jess?' Isabel pleaded. 'I couldn't run the risk of Sebastian coming over here. If the parents or John had seen him…'

  'So you sent me into the lion's den instead,' Jessica supplied dryly. 'Thanks!'

  'I didn't know that you'd see Sebastian or that he'd mistake you for me,' Isabel defended herself, 'but perhaps it's all worked out for the best,' she added with what to Jessica was colossal selfishness. 'Now he's seen you and you've told him that you don't want Jorge, he won't bother us again. What was he like?' she asked curiously. 'To hear Jorge talk about him anyone would think he was God!' She giggled. 'I quite fancied meeting him; Jorge said all the women were after him. He's immensely wealthy, and the title goes back to the days of Ferdinand and Isabella. He sounded fearfully haughty and proud.'

  It was becoming obvious that Isabel knew far more about the Calvadores family than she had told her, Jessica realised. She was furious with her cousin, but as she knew from past experience, it was pointless getting angry with Isabel. Even if she were to drag her out here and make her face Sebastian and Calvadores herself, what possible good could it do? Isabel was probably right, it had all turned out for the best, although Jessica doubted that he would ever have felt sufficient concern about her hold over his brother to go the lengths of seeking her out in England.

  'He sent me the most hateful letter,' Isabel was saying, her voice quivering slightly. 'He said that he didn't believe I might be pregnant and that it was just a trick to get Jorge to marry me. At least it's all over with now, Jess,' she added on a happier note, 'I'm so relieved. By the way,' she added coquettishly, 'John proposed last night and I've accepted him—the parents are over the moon!'

  Privately Isabel thought her cousin far too young to be thinking of marriage. It was plain that Isabel was far from mature, and she doubted that John was the right husband for her, but she knew better than to interfere.

  'When will you be back?' Isabel demanded. 'We're having a proper engagement party, and I want you to be there, of course.'

  A sop to ease her conscience, Jessica thought wryly. She had done the dirty deed for her and now she was to be rewarded; Isabel couldn't get engaged without her. Had her cousin the slightest idea of what it had felt like to have to stand there and listen to Sebastian de Calvadores' insults? To be told that her morals were questionable, that she was motivated by financial greed—no, she thought grimly, Isabel didn't have the slightest conception.

  Since she had allowed herself two days to sort out Isabel's romantic problems, Jessica found herself with a day on her hands. She wasn't going to waste it, she decided as she breakfasted in her room on warm rolls and fresh honey. She would explore Seville.

  She already knew a little about it; that it had once been ruled by the Moors who had ruled all this part of Spain; that during the Middle Ages it had had a fine reputation as a centre of medical learning. Once Colin arrived th
ere would be scant time for sightseeing, which in any case did not interest him, so after checking the time of his flight, which was due in early in the evening, Jessica collected her guide books and set out to explore the city.

  But as she wandered the Moorish Alcazar, instead of simply being able to drink in its beauty, at almost every turn she was forcibly reminded of Sebastian de Calvadores; it was from the men who had built the civilisation from which this beauty had sprung that he drew his arrogance, she thought as she looked around her. There was Moorish blood running in his veins, underlining and emphasising his total masculinity. She shivered, suddenly feeling cold, clad to step out into the warmth of the sunshine. Forget him, she told herself, why worry about what had happened? She knew that he had been totally mistaken about it, and that should have been enough. But somehow it wasn't. She could forget the contempt in his eyes, the explicitly sexual way they had moved over her body and yet at the same time had remained so cold, as though he had been saying, see, I know everything there is to know about you as a woman and it does nothing for me, nothing at all.

  If it wasn't for the fact that by doing so she would betray Isabel she would have gone back and told him how wrong he was about her; then it would be his turn to feel her contempt, her condemnation.

  Seville was a beautiful city, but she wasn't in the mood to enjoy it. Almost everywhere she looked she was reminded of Sebastian de Calvadores; Moorish faces, sternly oppressive, stared back at her from paintings; Moorish men who had guarded their women like precious jewels in rare caskets and who would never in a million years permit them the kind of freedom Isabel enjoyed.

  Chastity and desire burned strongly in twin flames in these people; either saints or sinners, but knowing no middle road; their history was a proud one and there could be few natives of Seville who did not boast some Moorish blood, some fierce elemental strain they had inherited from their forebears. They had been a race who, even while they tasted the cup of pleasure to the full, always remained a little aloof, knowing that where there was pleasure there was pain. A cynical, sophisticated race who had kept their women closeted away from the world to be enjoyed by them alone.

  Jessica was glad when the time came to go and meet Colin's plane. He seemed so solid and safe somehow as he came towards her, carrying his briefcase, frowning uncertainly until he saw her.

  'Jessica!' His hug was affectionately warm. 'Everything sorted out?' he asked her as they got into their taxi, his tone implying that he wouldn't be surprised to find that Isabel in her tiresomeness had allowed her problems to overflow into Jessica's working life.

  'I think so.'

  His relief made her laugh. 'Thank goodness for that! I was terrified that we'd have a tearful besotted Latin lover on our hands!'

  Just for a moment Jessica compared this image to the reality of Sebastian, and wondered if Jorge was anything like his formidable brother. Probably not. She couldn't see Sebastian allowing himself to be manipulated in the way she was coming to suspect that Isabel had manipulated Jorge. No, when it came to the woman in his life, Sebastian would be totally in control. Was he married?

  'Jess?'

  Stop thinking about him, she chided herself, giving her attention to Colin. She was in Seville to work, not concern herself with the private life of a man who was virtually a stranger. Stranger or not, for those first few pulsating seconds when she had seen Sebastian she had been aware of him in a way that still had the power to shock her. For all his repressive arrogance there was a sensuality about him, a total maleness and a dangerous allure, reminiscent of that of a jungle cat for its prey.

  Colin was tired after his flight and it was decided that he would dine in his room and have an early night.

  'Have you been to the exhibition centre yet?' he asked Jessica. She shook her head. 'Well, the exhibition doesn't open until tomorrow. We've got an appointment with Calvortex after lunch. Keep your fingers crossed, won't you?' he asked her. 'I've done all next season's designs with their fabrics in mind. If they're anything like last season's we'll be on to a real winner—especially if he gives us the exclusive use of his stuff for the U.K.'

  'How much do you know about them?' Jessica asked him as they stepped into the hotel foyer.

  'Very little, and most of that word of mouth. The Chairman of the company handpicks his clients, from what I've been told. The company is a small family-run business; apart from that I know nothing, except that they produce the sort of fabrics that fill the dreams of every designer worth his or her salt. I'm relieved to hear you've sorted out all that business with Isabel,' he added as they headed for the lift. 'Tiresome girl! Why should you run round after her?'

  'Well, I won't have to much longer,' Jessica told him. 'She's got herself engaged.'

  'God help the man!' was ' Colin's pious comment as the lift stopped at their floor.

  Their rooms were not adjacent and outside the lift they went their separate ways.

  In her own room, Jessica tried to concentrate on the morning and the textile show, but somehow Sebastian de Calvadores' aquiline features kept coming between her and her work. A hard man and a proud one, and her face burned with colour as she remembered the way he had looked at her, the insulting remarks he had made to her.

  She went to bed early, and was just on the point of falling asleep when she heard someone knocking on the door.

  'Jess, are you awake?' she heard Colin mutter outside. 'I've got the most dreadful indigestion, do you have anything I can take?'

  Sighing, she went to her suitcase and found some tablets. If Colin had one fault it was that he was a hopeless hypochondriac and that he refused absolutely to carry even aspirins about with him, preferring instead to play the martyr for the uninitiated. Jessica had got wise to this within her first few months of working from him, and had grown used to carrying what amounted almost to a small pharmacy around with her whenever she travelled with him.

  . She opened her door and handed him the small packet.

  'You're an angel!'

  Colin bent forward, kissing her cheek lightly, and as he did so out of the corner of her eye Jessica glimpsed the couple walking down the corridor towards them; the woman small and petite with smoothly coiled dark hair and an expensive couture evening gown, her escort tall, with raven's-wing dark hair and a profile that made Jessica's heart turn over thuddingly as she stared at him.

  Sebastian de Calvadores! What was he doing here, and who was he with?

  Her face paled as he stared contemptuously at her, suddenly acutely aware of her thin silk nightgown and tousled hair, Colin's hand on her arm, his lips brushing her cheek. Her face flamed as she realised what interpretation Sebastian de Calvadores would be placing on their intimacy, and then berated herself for her embarrassment. Why should she care if he thought she and Colin were lovers? What possible business was it of his? And yet his steely glance seemed to say that he knew everything there was to know about her, and that he doubted that her motives for being with Colin were any less altruistic than those he had accredited her with in his brother's case.

  'Jess, is something wrong?' Colin asked her with a frown, sensing her lack of attention. 'You've seemed strangely on edge ever since I arrived. It's that damned cousin of yours, I suppose.'

  'Nothing's wrong, I'm just a little tired,' she lied huskily, glad when Sebastian and his companion turned the corner of the corridor. 'I'll be fine in the morning.'

  * * *

  CHAPTER THREE

  As a prediction it wasn't entirely true; Jessica felt strangely on edge and tense, her muscles clenching every time someone walked into the dining-room where they were having breakfast.

  She would be glad to get back home, she thought wryly as her nerves jumped for the third time in succession at the sight of a dark-haired man. Arrogant brute! He hadn't even given her an opportunity to explain, denouncing her as though she were some female predator and his brother her completely innocent victim. She thought about what she had learned from Isabel and grimaced slightly.
How could her cousin have behaved in such an unprincipled way? She had always had a streak of wildness, a tendency to ignore any attempts to curb her headstrong nature, but to actually try and force Jorge into marriage… And that was what she had done, no matter how one tried to wrap up the truth, Jessica admitted unhappily. Even so, that was no reason for Sebastian de Calvadores to speak to her in the way he had.

  'Time to leave for the exhibition,' Colin reminded her, dragging her mind back to the real purpose of her visit to Seville.

  Half an hour later they were there, both of them lost in admiration of the fabrics on display.

  'Just feel this suede,' Colin murmured to her.

  'It's as supple as silk. It makes my fingers itch to use it!'

  'And these tweeds!' Jessica exclaimed. 'The wool comes from South America, I believe?'

  'Many Spaniards have family connections in South America,' Colin reminded her, 'and I suppose it's only natural that they should turn those connections to commercial advantage, in this case by importing the wool in its raw state, and dying and weaving it here in Spain.'

  He drew Jessica's attention to the display belonging to the company they were to see. 'In a class of its own, isn't it?' he asked, watching the way she handled the supple fabric. 'And those colours!'

  'They're incredibly subtle,' Jessica agreed with a touch of envy.

  On leaving college her first intention had been to find a job in a design capacity with one of the large manufacturers, but such jobs were hard to come by—even harder with the downturn in the textile industry in Britain, and although her languages had stood her in good stead, she had found that without exception the Continental firms preferred to take on their own young graduates. Now working with cloth in its raw stages was only a pipe-dream.